


Taming the Wolves

by IndigoDream



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bonding, Childhood Memories, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Winter At Kaer Morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29178483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: When Geralt offers to bring Jaskier to Kaer Morhen that winter, the bard is overjoyed, but anxious as well. He desperately wishes to make a good impression on his lover's family. It turns out easier than he had thought, although Eskel isn't convinced just yet.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 322





	Taming the Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Hello ~
> 
> This fic is a labor of love, a delightful little thing I wrote for the Geraskier Midwinter Mini-bang, in which I was paired with the lovely MaxImproving!

“Promise you won’t,” Geralt says solemnly, crossing his arms. 

“Won’t what, dear?” Jaskier singsongs as an answer, twirling around the room as he puts things away in the right packs. 

Only he would have a right and wrong pack, of course. Geralt wishes he would hurry up. It’s been three hours since sunrise, and Jaskier hasn’t seemed in any hurry to move forward.

“Ask them,” Geralt grinds his teeth when Jaskier only giggles a bit, making an innocent face. “About my childhood.” 

“But Geralt!” This gets Jaskier’s attention. “You know all about my childhood, it’s hardly fair that I don’t get any of yours!” 

“I was just a kid like all the others before the trials,” Geralt shrugs, looking away. 

“Yes, you were.” Jaskier moves back towards him and kisses his lover’s cheek. “And I want to hear about it. I want to think about little Geralt running around and wanting to be a witcher.” 

Geralt mumbles something, too low for Jaskier to hear, and the bard pokes at Geralt’s chest. 

“I didn’t quite catch that,” he says as he steps back to look into the witcher’s eyes properly. “Repeat it for me, will you?” 

“I didn’t want to be a witcher when I was a child,” Geralt says, a red tinge blooming on his cheeks. Jaskier loves seeing him blush. He continues, “I wanted to be a… You aren’t allowed to laugh.” 

“Of course I won’t laugh,” Jaskier says gently. “It seems important to you. I won’t mock you, never!” 

Geralt hums a bit, trying to accept that, keeping his eyes trained away from Jaskier. He focuses on the tree they can see through the window of their room. 

“I wanted to be a knight.” 

His tone holds shame and guilt, but Jaskier can’t understand it. After all, the man he loves, his witcher, is braver than any knight, and more chivalrous, too. If they were in one of Jaskier’s ballads, Geralt would be a king, wise and powerful, with an acute understanding of life and death. And Jaskier would be his lover, whispering in his ear and making sure that he knew of all the dark thoughts that spread through the court.

Snapping out of his daydreams, he kisses Geralt gently, letting his lips trail down the other man’s jawline. He loves the way Geralt allows himself to be touched and moved so that Jaskier can pepper him with adoration and love. 

“Why would I laugh at this?” Jaskier asks, when he has finished lavishing every inch of his lover’s jaw and lips with kisses. “I think it suits you. And you  _ are _ a knight now.” 

“Right,” Geralt says, and tries to fight the blush still on his cheeks. “Anyway, are you finally ready?” 

“You say this like I’ve been unnecessarily long,” Jaskier pouts. “I just needed to make sure everything would be perfect before I got to meet your family for the first time! I want them to like me!” 

“They’ll love you. Now let’s go. There are still two days worth of travel and the faster we leave, the faster we get there.” 

“If you’d just let me ride Roach—“ 

“No.” 

With one last, overly dramatic sigh, Jaskier picks up his last belongings, those that Geralt hasn’t already taken down. Jaskier has only brought three packs, which he thinks isn’t actually enough, now that he realizes he has no gifts for Vesemir. 

“Geralt,” he rushes after his lover, who is already down the stairs and walking through the door. “I forgot Vesemir’s presents!” 

“You bought him something?” Geralt frowns. “What could you possibly have-“ 

“No, that’s the thing! I forgot it!” Jaskier half shouts. “I forgot to buy something and he is going to hate me and your whole family is going to hate me and they’ll be right to do so, I’m a disaster! I should have gotten better gifts, too. Are you sure a bottle of fine whiskey is enough for Eskel? You said he was like your big brother. I don’t want to disappoint you and have you realize I’m not worth it and—“ 

“You’re rambling,” Geralt sighs and puts a hand over his mouth. “You did buy him something, remember? When we stayed in Oxenfurt? You took that book for Vesemir on herbs of the north and how to make them grow even in winter.” 

“But it isn’t an interesting gift,” Jaskier protests. “What if he hates it? I have to find something better.” 

“He’ll like it. We aren’t stopping to buy anything more,” Geralt says in a final tone, and Jaskier sighs. 

He knows better by now than to try and argue for hours with Geralt. With his lover’s stubbornness, they will just be stuck in argument for hours. Frankly, if they are to travel for two more days in the Kaedwani mountains, Jaskier would rather do many other things than argue. He has been working on a song, anyway. It’s not his finest work, but it is about love and family, and he thinks it might find a good crowd with the Wolves of Kaer Morhen. 

The next two days fly by relatively fast. Geralt spends most of it walking by Jaskier’s side, letting their hands brush against one another. The contact is only made through their gloves, but it still sends happy sparks through Jaskier each time. They have only been together for a little over a year, and this is the first time Jaskier is coming to Kaer Morhen. The gentle, casual affection of his knuckles brushing against Geralt’s still thrills him. 

The Keep appears at midday on the second day, and Jaskier has to stop walking when he sees it. The mist that has been surrounding them all day doesn’t attain much of the castle yet, and it shines in an eerie glow, making him wonder if he isn’t seeing what he wants to see. Despite it being a ruin, which is quite apparent as Jaskier takes in a crumbled wall and one of the towers being half down, it remains magnificent. An architectural wonder like this should be depicted in as many ways as it is possible, and Jaskier can already feel the rhymes coming to him. There is no money to be made here, but there is a poet’s way of life. 

There is a home to be made here too, Jaskier notes to himself as he sees Geralt smiling warmly at the sight. 

“Excited to go home?” Jaskier asks as he slides closer, hugging Geralt and pressing his face in his lover’s neck. 

“Happy to be introducing you to everyone,” Geralt answers and drops a gentle kiss to the bard’s head. “Though that won’t happen if we keep stopping to admire the valley.” 

Jaskier pouts and steals a kiss before they keep walking. Nerves are starting to build inside him again. Inside his stomach rumbles the ugly feelings he has been trying to bury for days: fear that Geralt’s family won’t like him, or think him worthy of Geralt’s love. More than that, fear that Geralt will realize that Jaskier doesn’t have his place by his side. 

He knows that isn’t rational. He knows that Geralt loves him, that the witcher chose him and wants to be with him. But a small part of him still wonders if Geralt isn’t going to change his mind at some point, if he isn’t going to see that Jaskier is a lot of love and pretty words, but he isn’t useful and—

“You’re thinking those thoughts again,” Geralt cuts in as they arrive in front of the gates. 

“No,” Jaskier attempts to lie, but his voice betrays him, pitching high and Geralt looks at him, stopping Roach. “Fine, yes! I just— You live in a freaking castle and I’m just Jaskier the bard, and—“ 

“And I love you.” 

Geralt’s voice is so sure of itself, so full of gentle understanding, that Jaskier sighs, a bit of relief flooding his heart. Each time Geralt voices it, thrills run up and down his spine. It isn’t new though, or anything that Geralt has recently started saying. It had become an important part of their relationship when they had just started dating, and Jaskier knows that with each new time he says it, Geralt means it more than the last. 

That’s exactly why he repeats it so often, why Jaskier sings his love up and down, so loud that his voice breaks at the end of his performances. He adores Geralt and wants the witcher and the whole world to know it. Well, mostly Geralt, but everyone else should also be made aware that the White Wolf is taken. Jaskier isn’t jealous, he doesn’t care if women and men hit on Geralt and try to draw him into their beds, but everyone should know that the wolf and his songbird belong to one another. It  _ matters _ to Jaskier. 

“Alright.” Jaskier nods and smiles. “I trust you.” 

“Good, because one of my brothers is coming here and it isn’t the nice one.” Geralt grins as the portcullis lifts up and a man, smaller than Geralt and definitely leaner, is running through and throwing himself at Geralt. 

Despite having been ready for the assault, Geralt still stumbles backwards, and it only takes his brother a few seconds to send him to the ground. Just like children they tussle and fight, grunting and snarking at each other. They are growling, or at least that’s what it sounds like to Jaskier, but well, what is he to know of brothers and siblings? He is an only child who grew up isolated in a too large manor with too few servants, where the only company he had were the books in the large library his father kept in pristine condition for potential guests. After all, the former viscount of Lettenhove had always said that a man’s wealth could be measured in the wealth of his library. By that standard, Jaskier’s family was extremely rich.

Of course, by  _ all _ standards, Jaskier’s family was extremely rich, but it had become more apparent the more Jaskier had visited other houses. When they were invited for tea, his mother always brought him along and boasted of his results and of his accomplishments with the private tutors they hired. It was only the start of a delicately intricate ritual of rivalry masked by pleasantries, all held over biscuits offered by the host. 

“You must be Jaskier,” Geralt’s brother says when he is done brushing away the mud from his clothing, and he extends a hand. “Lambert.” 

“Ah! I’ve heard quite a lot about you,” Jaskier says. “It was more along the lines of heroic deeds though. I don’t know how well wrestling with an older brother on the hard, frozen ground, is going to fit in, but I’m never out of inspiration at the very least.” 

Lambert laughs shortly, a small, almost painful sound, but he is grinning. He claps Jaskier’s shoulder appreciatively and then turns back to the inside of the castle. 

“Come on, everyone is waiting for you.” He stops, takes a look at them both, and smirks. “Well, you  _ two _ .”

“Fuck off Lambert,” Geralt snaps after his brother, but the other witcher only grins and keeps walking inside, amused. “Come on Jask, they’ll get all of their energy out and then you can properly enjoy the castle.” 

“Right,” Jaskier nods, nervous once again, and he reaches for Geralt’s hand. Intertwining their fingers together, he smiles bravely. “Into the home of the wolves I go.” 

“Be careful not to get devoured,” Lambert shouts from ahead, and when Geralt throws some snow at him, he laughs even more. 

They leave Roach in the stables, taking out her packs and her saddles, but they leave everything near her for now. There is food to be had, and Lambert is waiting for them at the entrance of the stables, looking at Geralt and Jaskier silently. Jaskier doesn’t do well with silence usually, especially around strangers. With Geralt, he knows how to stay quiet and appreciate the moments during which his lover and him breathe together in the mornings, when the world is reduced to their fingers touching and their lips meeting each other delicately. 

Geralt takes back his hand immediately, although they are now gloveless, and Jaskier feels warmth rushing through him again. In his home, Geralt is ready to show everyone that he and Jaskier belong together, that they fit. It assuages all the swirling fears in Jaskier’s stomach for a moment, and he breathes in deeply as he follows his witcher into the castle. 

If Kaer Mohren had been beautiful from the outside, it is even more beautiful from the inside. The stone is old, and there are windy drafts as they walk in the main corridor, but tapestries hanging on either side make the winds less aggressive. Overall, Jaskier is quite impressed as he sees the candles brightly lit, reflecting on a mirror in between two condemned doors. There are a few of those, and when Jaskier jostles Geralt’s shoulder with a questioning look, the white haired witcher winces slightly. 

“Collapsed rooms, or places that we couldn’t bear to go to. Half of the castle suffered from the Sacking, but the main entrance was only slightly destroyed, so we did our best to rebuild it properly and, in cases where it wasn’t enough, we condemned the rooms.” 

“How long ago was that?” Jaskier can’t help but ask. 

He has little notion of how old everything around them is; he has forgotten his birth year and he doesn’t quite keep count of time the way other people seem to. He knows it has been a year since Geralt had finally realized he was flirting and trying to drop hints that he was in love with him, yes. But even  _ that _ he isn’t quite sure of; he assumes it has been a year because a winter has passed, which means a few months of being separated from Geralt, and a few months in Oxenfurt. 

“About fifty years ago,” Geralt answers quietly, dropping his voice. “We shouldn’t talk about this too much.” 

Jaskier nods, biting his lips in remorse. He should have known better. “Sorry.” 

Perhaps sensing his discomfort, Geralt rubs a soothing circle on the back of his hand and then leads him further inside. They enter the main hall, and Jaskier has to stop to take in the immensity of the place again. The main hall is enormous, filled with scaffolding and poles that keep the walls held properly, but also with books and trinkets. There is one long table at which two men are seated, and when Jaskier finally turns his gaze towards them, he finds himself scrutinized. 

It isn’t anything he hasn’t lived through before however, so he smiles and walks forward with Geralt. The men don’t stop staring as they walk closer, and Jaskier’s fears crawl back to the surface, claws digging into his chest and biting away at his resolve to believe in the certitude of Geralt’s love for him. 

“You must be Jaskier.” One of them says, and if Jaskier remembers Geralt’s description of his family correctly, this must be Vesemir, his mentor and father figure. “A pleasure to meet you. We have heard quite an amount of things about you.” 

Then he smiles, and Jaskier’s whole world crackles happily. He shakes Vesemir’s hand, the older witcher chuckling a bit as Geralt frowns at him. 

“Did Geralt talk about me?” Jaskier grins happily, tone teasing as he leans against Geralt, who only scowls at him. “Why, I would never have guessed. How sweet of you, dear.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes, but there is a tiny pleased light in his eyes. “Stop flirting.” 

Jaskier hums and pecks his cheek. “I’ll consider it.” 

Vesemir chuckles again, and Jaskier blushes slightly, although pleased that Geralt’s father seems to be approving of their relationship. At the very least, that’s one worry he can put aside. 

Still, there is the other man who still hasn’t said anything. Eskel is Geralt’s brother, the one he is the closest to and with whom he grew up. It’s equally important to Jaskier to earn his approval as well; he thinks Lambert has already decided he liked him, which is great, and Vesemir seems to like him enough for now, but there is still Eskel to win over. Though, he hopes that won’t be too hard. 

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen.” Eskel’s voice is flat, and his eyes are hard on Jaskier, on the intertwined hands of his brother and the bard. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

He extends a hand, and Jaskier shakes it, but the atmosphere in the room has cooled down significantly. 

“It’s a pleasure as well,” Jaskier says, with as much bravado as he can, trying to keep his nerves to himself. He has played in front of crowds, has sung in front of kings and queens. This is nothing, this shouldn’t scare him half as much. “Geralt has told me a lot about his family and growing up here. He said you had a goat?” 

Eskel seems a bit surprised and he glances at Geralt, who is starting to speak with Vesemir now that introductions have been made, and Lambert had wandered off after a few minutes. This leaves Jaskier and Eskel with each other, both standing on each side of the table, and the awkwardness of the situation becomes much clearer to Jaskier. So he sits down, and Eskel does as well slowly, his eyes not leaving Jaskier’s. 

“I do.” 

His answer to the previous question is sparse, but Geralt  _ had _ said that Eskel was the quietest of them all. Before, Jaskier had doubted him, but now that he has met the other three Wolves, he can’t help but see the truth. 

“Her name is Lil’ Bleater right? Geralt said she was a menace.” He chuckles, trying to forget the awkwardness of the moment as his heart beat madly. “I have a bit of trouble imagining a goat being a menace, in truth, but this is Geralt we are talking about. He doesn’t exactly joke about menaces and the like.” 

Eskel hums and scrutinizes him for a few more seconds, before he remembers that Jaskier asked a question. “She is in the unused garden plot for now. We can’t keep her inside all the time.” 

“Right.” Jaskier nods, and then the conversation falls flat again. He bites his lips a bit, and, crossing his hands on his lap, he nervously taps his thumbs against each other. “So, have you arrived long ago?”

“About a week.” 

Eskel doesn’t seem inclined to talking, and Jaskier feels his pulse quickening. He hates that he gets so anxious when someone doesn’t seem to like him immediately. And this time, it’s even worse than usual, because this is someone important. This is Geralt’s brother, someone he grew up with. Jaskier is well aware that it wasn’t a guarantee that Eskel would like him, but he had thought that, at least, the fact that he had helped witchers’ reputation throughout the Continent would have earned him some credit. Apparently not. 

“Geralt hasn’t said much about how winters are spent here,” Jaskier continues, hoping that the witcher will see the hint for what it is. However, as the silence stretches between them, he decides to ignore all subtlety and asks bluntly, “What should I expect then?” 

“Work,” Eskel growls a bit and stands up. “I’ll be in the library.” 

He tells the last part to his brother and father, and then leaves the room rather abruptly, crossing paths with a surprised Lambert. 

“Did someone drop a cockroach down his shirt again?” The youngest Wolf asks, looking after his brother with a raised eyebrow. 

Jaskier smiles a bit, but uneasiness is spreading through him, and he doesn’t feel hungry anymore. He had been complaining just an hour before that he was  _ starving, Geralt, how can you expect me to be charming and absolutely perfect when you’re starving me! _ Now though, he feels his stomach tied in knots, and he moves slowly, taking Geralt’s hand and squeezing it slightly. 

Geralt, who had been looking at the door his brother had left open as he had stormed off, turns towards him rather quickly. His golden eyes are worried and Jaskier feels a bit of guilt at having already disturbed Kaer Morhen’s peace. 

“Would you mind showing me our room? I’m quite exhausted, and I think I need to lay down before I can do anything else.” 

His excuse is flimsy at best; the path to Kaer Morhen, while not the easiest trek of Jaskier’s life, had hardly been exhausting at Geralt’s side. Geralt doesn’t buy the excuse. He squints slightly, tries to find whatever it is that bothers Jaskier, but what he sees mustn’t satisfy him, because he simply sighs and nods. 

“My apologies,” Jaskier says, half-bowing. “The journey to come here was long and I fear that I’m not at the best of my health for now. I am quite sure I will feel better by the evening, however. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Vesemir nods. “Make sure to get back on your feet. We have a lot of work to do around here, and your help will be more than welcome.” 

Jaskier nods, feeling his stomach tighten again. Right. He isn’t here to leisurely enjoy the days by Geralt’s side. He had known the witchers wouldn’t like him, he should have refused Geralt’s invitation. After this disaster of a first meeting, Geralt is sure to realize that Jaskier is much below him and that he should not lose his time with the bard. 

Apparently unaware of Jaskier’s thoughts, Geralt leads him away, their hands still tight around each other. It isn’t a very long walk to the bedroom, although Jaskier hadn’t expected quite as many stairs. They do not speak as they cross the castle, and Jaskier feels a knot of worry become bigger and bigger in his throat. 

“Vesemir liked you,” is the first thing Geralt says as they cross the threshold, and he must see Jaskier’s surprised look because he shrugs. “What?” 

“It didn’t seem like any of them was particularly… interested by my presence,” Jaskier says in a low tone, looking around and moving away from Geralt. His eyes wander throughout the room, settling on the red velvet drapes around the bed, and the copious amount of furs piled on the thick looking mattress. It looks like heaven right now, but he has to stay focused. “If it would be better that I leave, I would rather know right away Geralt. I can make my way down south from here, it shouldn’t be too cold. And the snow hasn’t started just yet. It wouldn’t be too—“ 

“You want to leave?” Geralt asks, his tone carrying a hurt note that Jaskier wants to soothe immediately. “I thought… I’ll walk you back, but…” 

He trails off, looking everywhere but at Jaskier, and Jaskier feels remorse climbing in his throat. Putting down his pack next to the bed, he comes to take Geralt’s face in his hands. 

“Love,” he whispers gently. “I don’t ever want to leave your side. I am utterly amazed at being here, and meeting your family is very exciting. I’m just afraid that I’m going to be a bother. I don’t want to stop you from catching up with your brothers and your father. You deserve to have time with them, and I already have you all year. If you think it would be better for you and your family that I leave, I will totally understand.” 

“No,” Geralt whines a bit, his voice pleading. He steps forward into Jaskier’s space and draws a desperate kiss from his lips. “Please, stay. I want them to get to know you and love you. Lambert already likes you, and Vesemir definitely thinks you’re intriguing. Just… Give them a few days, alright?” 

Jaskier nods, and peppers Geralt’s face with tender kisses, finishing with his lips. They spend several minutes lost in each other, until they are sprawled out on the bed, Geralt lying on top of Jaskier with no care that he is definitely too heavy for Jaskier to handle for longer than a few minutes. In truth, the bard loves when his witcher does this; there is no better comfort than to have Geralt so relaxed in his arms, weighing him down into the mattress. 

“I love you,” Jaskier murmurs as Geralt nuzzles into his neck. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“If you’re worried about Eskel,” Geralt says softly, and Jaskier wonders when his Wolf became so attuned to his feelings that he could pinpoint the exact cause of his worries, “he will come around.” 

Jaskier hums, unable to answer properly right away. In his mind, he passes in review the gifts he has brought for Geralt’s family, and wonders if it’ll be enough.  _ It’ll have to be. _

Dinner that evening is a lively affair, and Jaskier finds himself going to bed with a wide smile on his face at the reception of his gifts. Vesemir had appreciated the book on the plants that could survive Kaedwen’s harsh winters, and Eskel had seemed to appreciate the whiskey enough to refuse to share it with Lambert at first. It had ended with the two tussling and play fighting, Geralt counting the points. 

“Are they always like this?” Jaskier had asked with a smile, and Vesemir had chuckled, low but warm. 

“I wish they were. They are calm right now.” He had stopped to take a sip of Eskel’s whiskey, and had nodded appreciatively. “A fine vintage. You know your alcohol, boy.”

The bard had chuckled. “When you are raised amongst nobles, the only valuable thing you learn is how to pick your alcohol.” 

That had made the eldest witcher chuckle again, and Jaskier hadn’t exactly preened, but he certainly had been content with himself. 

When Lambert and Eskel had finished their battle on the ground, Eskel had poured them all a glass of whiskey. It had reassured Jaskier to see that Eskel had enjoyed it, and all the other wolves had been in agreement around it. Geralt’s hand had stayed on his thigh the whole time, a grounding presence.

Lambert’s eyes had lit up when Jaskier had handed him his gift. 

“The finest oil pastels I could find,” Jaskier had said, a bit more shy than he had hoped he would be. “Geralt mentioned that you had a talent for the arts. I asked around a few friends in Oxenfurt, and one of them was kind enough to part with these. They come from Ofier, from a master craftsman who specializes in making rare and delicate products for the arts.” 

Lambert had twirled the box in his hand for a few moments, almost looking afraid to open it, and then Vesemir had nudged his shoulder gently, and he had pulled the top off. The look in his eyes could only have been described as pure wonder when he had seen the quality of the pastels. He had marvelled in silence at them for a few instants, and everyone had watched him. There had been such fondness on Vesemir’s face as he had seen the youngest pup so stunned with joy that Jaskier had almost felt like leaving the four of them alone. 

He burrows himself under the furs now, inhaling deeply. There is a residual scent of lavender in the room, something he hadn’t quite expected from the witchers. It makes sense though, now that he thinks about it. Lavender appeases fears and worries, helps sleeplessness, and it has a few rumoured magical properties. Jaskier has dropped some lavender oil on many a shirt’s collar before his exams in Oxenfurt, and he had even done so a few times when Geralt had left him behind on hard hunts. Worrying for his witcher was something he would never quite get accustomed to. 

“You look much happier,” Geralt remarks as he slips into bed next to him, coming so close that they can tangle their legs together and Jaskier gets to push his head against his lover’s chest. “No longer want to leave?” 

“I never wanted to, my wolf,” Jaskier murmurs and presses a kiss above Geralt’s heart. “I was merely afraid. But to answer your other remark, I will have you know that yes, I am happy. Your family enjoyed my gifts and I could not have hoped for a better outcome.” 

Geralt hums, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s hair. “They did. I told you they would love you.” 

“Halt your horses there, pretty boy,” Jaskier smiles and kisses his jaw. “They don’t quite love me. I still need to show that I’m worthy of your love.” 

Geralt’s ever present frown comes back. “Of course you do—“ 

“I know that,” Jaskier says, although there will always be a little thrum of worry within him that says the contrary. He has decided to stop paying attention to it. “I simply mean that they are  _ your _ family and they love you. They want to protect you, and I’m sure they are quite surprised that you actually brought someone back.” 

“I brought you back because I love you and I can’t bear to be separated from you. Also because I wanted you to meet them.” 

If Jaskier were a cat, he would surely be purring loudly enough to wake all the ghosts of the castle. As it is, he is not a cat, so he simply pulls Geralt in a long kiss, pressing infinitely closer to him. Geralt’s hands slip beneath his shirt easily enough, and Jaskier closes his eyes as his lover leaves a trail of wet kisses down his neck. He is really glad for the bed.

The next few days, Jaskier discovers life in Kaer Morhen. Mornings are slow; each wolf wakes up at a different hour of the morning, but around mid-morning they all meet in the courtyard to train. Lambert is usually the last one to arrive, and more than once Jaskier catches smudges of pastels on his fingers as he grabs his training weapon. 

After that, lunch is served in the kitchen, where the hearth burns the warmest during the day, and Jaskier is often asked for a song or two as they all share a glass of wine at the end of the meal. Afternoons are spent doing various chores around the Keep. Jaskier is tasked with reorganizing the library, and he takes great pleasure in doing so. 

The library of Kaer Morhen is much smaller than Oxenfurt Academy’s was, but it is still a reasonably sized place. The books are arranged in no order whatsoever, and Jaskier spends the first three days merely cataloguing them all. He notes down the year of publishing, the name of the author and title of the book, the subject it studies, and whether it is part of a set of books or not, and has a grand time doing it. It isn’t often that he indulges in such academic activities, and he had not expected to have time for those here in the home of the witchers, but he finds himself enjoying it deeply.

He has just grabbed a pile of books that he has yet to catalogue, trying to move it to the table so that he can avoid mixing up those already noted down and those yet uncategorized, when he stumbles and sends the pile of books tumbling onto the floor. Groaning as he picks himself up, he quickly makes sure that no splinter pierced his palms and he dusts himself off as he stands up. The books are scattered over the floor and he sighs. 

“That’s what you get for trying to rush,” he scolds himself, picking up the closest ones first and then moving on. 

Most of them seem to be about beasts or non-human creatures of some sort, and Jaskier sorts them out roughly to make his further work faster. He likes sorting out and organizing, when he has the time to do so. On the road, it can get a bit messy, especially when the places they pass by are too desolate to have any inns of any sort. Here, he has been enjoying finding himself in a neater space, and he is trying to recreate that in the library. 

He is picking up a book titled  _ Snapdragon: Grace and Trickery _ by a rather well known poet from a few centuries ago, when a slip of paper falls out of it. Despite his surprise — so far, all the books have been in rather pristine condition, and if they showed wear, it was nothing that actually would have made a page get loose — he picks up the page. 

It isn’t a page, he realizes. Folded in half, the paper sheet is a yellowed out color that doesn’t match the clearly well loved book’s pages. Making sure that none of the books fall out of order, Jaskier places them on the table, although he keeps the poetry book under his arm. He had been meaning to read more of Ethariel's work, regardless. As he opens the paper, he sits on his chair. 

The first thing that he sees is the vibrant, eye catching bee floating in the middle. Then he sees two strings linking it to two boys smiling. One of them is dressed in green, bright orange hair almost giving him the appearance of a fairy, albeit a wingless one. The other one has a red and brown outfit, and Jaskier smiles a bit. Clearly, this depicts a scene between two friends, and a mysterious bee they caught in between them. Folding the paper again and leaving it in his pocket, Jaskier resolves to ask Geralt about it at the next opportunity. 

Jaskier and Geralt manage to obtain some time to retire to their bedroom in the early afternoon, when all of them are too full of the delicious stew Vesemir had made to try and work. Geralt undresses somewhat, stretching before he gets under the thick furs, and then gives a somewhat impatient look to Jaskier. 

"I can't believe how clingy you are when we are here," the bard grins back. "Let me just remove my doublet and shoes and I'm all yours to cuddle." 

Geralt hums and leans on his elbow to watch Jaskier, fondness in his eyes. He tracks the bard's movements and chuckles as he sees his lover pull out a few walnuts from his pockets. 

"I get hungry sorting out the books," Jaskier defends himself with a slight blush, aware he is being ridiculous. "You can't say anything, you carry venison in your pockets when you know we have a long day of walking ahead." 

"It's very different," Geralt protests with a smile. "I simply know I will be hungry, so I prepare for it." 

Jaskier rolls his eyes and is finishing unlacing his doublet when he feels his elbow brushing something in his pocket. The drawing he found earlier in the day is still there, and he pulls it out carefully. 

"Love," he turns to Geralt again, unfolding it. "I found this in the library while tidying up." 

Making an inquisitive noise, Geralt sits up and takes the paper. As soon as his eyes fall on it, a bright smile illuminates his face and Jaskier marvels at it. Geralt is usually quite reserved in his expressions, although it has grown easier for him since they met, and to see this brightness and happiness on his face makes Jaskier want to be able to capture this moment forever. 

"Where did you find it?" Geralt asks, almost reverent in how he holds the picture.

"It fell off a poetry book while I was sorting it all out. It means something to you?" 

Geralt smiles and draws Jaskier in his arms, moving him so that the bard's back is against his chest, and he leans his head over his shoulder. 

"That was Eskel," he taps the brown-haired figure dressed in red, "and that was me." 

"You had ginger hair before the trials?" Jaskier gasps a bit, looking at his lover half-betrayed. "You never told me!" 

Geralt laughs, his rumble so deep that it feels like it is going through Jaskier's body too with how close they are. Stealing a light kiss from his pouting lover, he nods. 

"I did. And I never told you because I don't anymore and it won't happen ever again." 

Jaskier has to agree that it is a sensible explanation. Burrowing himself deeper into Geralt's hold, he taps the drawing the witcher is still holding. 

"So, what about this poor little fellow here? Tied up to the two of you like that, I bet you were menaces." 

Geralt hums a bit, his eyes looking at the drawing still, a slight focus making him frown ever so slightly. Although, Jaskier can see the simmering happiness underneath, the way he's happy to be looking at this. 

"We were," Geralt finally agrees. "Eskel drew this after we tied a bumblebee to a jug." 

"You did what now?" 

Geralt laughs a bit, pressing a light kiss to Jaskier's cheek. "We were... eight, maybe nine? And training got quite boring. So when our masters weren't looking, we snuck out to the woods and played there for a bit. We were knights and heroes, the stuff you'd put in your songs. 

“One day we found this bumblebee, huge and weighed down, and we had a jug that we had sneaked out of the kitchens. Strings were basically a requirement back then, too. So we managed to tie it, and Eskel wanted to bring it back so it could be our pet, but we got caught up in looking at it trying to escape. Vesemir found us when we were laughing loud enough to wake up all the wolves surrounding the castle, and he scolded us. We had to clean the stables for three months to teach us the value of respecting other lives. It wasn't too bad, since I had Eskel with me." 

Jaskier smiles softly. "Eskel is your best friend, isn't he?"

"He's always been more than a brother," Geralt nods. "We were just constantly bringing each other into chaos and messes." 

Grinning, Jaskier pokes his lover's ribs lightly. "You? Causing a mess? Now, I need to hear more of that." 

“You have all winter to learn all my childhood secrets, alright? No need to rush.” 

Jaskier pouts and takes the drawing, placing it alongside the walnuts he fished out of his pockets, before coming back to Geralt. Taking his lover’s face in his hands, he draws a few kisses from him, sitting in between his legs as Geralt’s hands come to rest on his hips. He almost loses sight of what he wants from how good it feels to have Geralt like this, in his arms; it might be their thousandth kiss, one of their eternal embraces, but each time that Jaskier gets to be with Geralt, gets to love him and be loved by him, he feels just the way he did the first time. 

“Love,” he pleads a bit when Geralt bites at his lower lip, his fingers working to free Jaskier’s shirt from his breeches’ waistband. “Geralt, one more story, please?” 

Geralt groans, his thumbs caressing Jaskier’s ribs as he steals another kiss. “Do I really have to?” 

“Yes,” Jaskier insists. He lowers his head to Geralt’s shoulder, making himself look as innocent and pleading as he can. “I want to know everything about you, my love, if you’ll allow me.”

Sighing, Geralt lowers his hands and draws Jaskier properly on his lap, the bard letting out a delighted squeal as he holds onto Geralt with his legs. “What do you want to know then?”

Jaskier hums happily as he thinks what to ask, Geralt’s hand rubbing a soothing rhythm over his back. There are so many things he could ask, the list long and never ending, but his mind keeps turning to the drawing. Eskel had made this, and they both had looked so happy in it… And Geralt had been so happy as he told him the story… 

“Tell me more about you and your brothers’ adventure as young witchers? I’m curious.”

“I barely trained with Lambert, in truth. He is ten years younger, so I was getting ready for the Path when he started his training properly. But Eskel and I found ourselves feeling a bit responsible for him? He would follow Eskel everywhere before we left the Keep. I think he might have been better at making us do dumb shit than we were at making him do them if he didn’t want to. Once, he convinced Eskel and I that switching out the socks of all the masters while they were sleeping was a brilliant idea. He was  _ eight _ .” 

Jaskier laughs a bit. “Doesn’t that mean you were eighteen?” 

“I was,” Geralt sighs with a smile. “So was Eskel, and yet… Vesemir yelled at us for hours after that.” 

“Sounds like he was a bit hard on you all when you were young,” Jaskier frowns a bit, caressing Geralt’s cheek. 

“No, he was actually quite soft on us. We were lucky that he took us under his mentorship; the other masters weren’t as tender. A few times, they actually pushed Vesemir to punish us harder than the scolding and unpleasant chores he assigned us. I remember Roland, one of the oldest witchers when I trained, used to have his trainees lashed if they arrived late to training.” 

Jaskier doesn’t answer. What is there to say, after all? Meagre “I’m sorry” or “That’s awful”? He knows that wouldn’t help. And all of those witchers, whether they had been mentors or mentees, are dead now. There is no platitude that he can offer that will change that, and Jaskier knows that there are days Geralt misses them, those people who had raised him and grew up alongside him, despite whatever hurt they might have caused him. It’s something Jaskier doesn’t quite understand, an aspect of a witcher’s life he knows will always be unattainable to those outside of it, and he has learnt to accept that. Even if he doesn’t quite understand it, he will always be at Geralt’s side to make the burden of grief and time a little easier to lift. 

“I remember, once,” Geralt continues, his eyes looking beyond Jaskier absentmindedly with a faint smile on his lips, “Eskel had decided it would be a great idea if we brought one of the wild kittens we had found inside the keep to the dorm where we still slept. He had me keep watch while he wrangled it inside — he ended up with a few scars that day — and we managed to have it inside with us for three hours before one of the other kids snitched on us. Eskel was furious to have lost the cat that he took all the kid’s non-armour clothing and hid it throughout the castle. We could find clothes for weeks after, and Eskel got chores, but well... I said it was my idea, so we got to share those at least.” 

“And work was more pleasant when the two of you were together,” Jaskier smiles gently, pecking Geralt’s lips. “I understand that.” 

“Is your curiosity finally satisfied then?” Geralt kisses his jaw, tugging him impossibly closer. “Or do I have to find more childhood stories?” 

“While I would never say no to more childhood stories,” Jaskier answers, exposing his neck to Geralt’s sharp teeth, “I have a keen interest in continuing on the path you’ve just taken.” 

Geralt chuckles, and his hands go back to caressing Jaskier. There will be more time for stories and memories later; now, they focus on the present. 

Despite that, Jaskier thinks of what Geralt told him over a few days. He keeps coming back to the drawing, unable to take his eyes away from it at times. The Eskel Geralt describes is so different from the one Jaskier sees every day, and he can’t help but feel like it is his own fault. Geralt tells him that Eskel loves the library, but when Jaskier asks him if he wants to help him sort out the library in a way that will make sense for witchers, the scarred man refuses, albeit politely. Jaskier offers to help with the repairs to the outer walls, but Eskel sends him away, citing the fact that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to climb the unsteady walls safely. 

The bard grows rather tired of it, if he is quite honest. He gets along well with Vesemir, who has even started allowing him in the kitchen, and Lambert has decided that the more embarrassing stories he told Jaskier about Geralt, the better it was. Geralt tells him to be patient and let Eskel take his time, but Jaskier has never been quite a patient man. So he keeps thinking of ways to get Eskel to like him, or to at least understand why Eskel doesn’t like him. 

Later, he will be a bit ashamed to say that it takes him three weeks after his arrival in Kaer Morhen to figure it out. Geralt has just finished telling him a story about how Eskel had once found him hiding from mountain goats in a tree when they were both fourteen when he realizes. 

“Love,” Jaskier stops Geralt with a hand on his arm. “What was Eskel supposed to be doing today?” 

Geralt frowns a bit, but answers regardless. “He was going to take care of the dinner for tonight. Vesemir wanted to work in the garden, to see what he could bring to life there.” 

“Right. Do you mind finishing putting this section on the shelf? I’m going to go help your brother with dinner.” 

“Eskel can cook on his own,” Geralt says, confused. “If it were Lambert—“ 

“I need to have a talk with Eskel,” Jaskier sighs. “Just the two of us, okay? So please, love.” 

It takes him a second or two, but Geralt nods and takes the pile of books Jaskier indicated. “I’ll see you later?” 

“If everything goes right, not before dinner,” Jaskier smiles and kisses his cheek. “Don’t worry.” 

Geralt grumbles something that Jaskier pretends not to hear and he leaves the library in a few long strides. As he heads out of the library, he makes sure that the drawing is still in his pocket; it’s where it has stayed most days since he found it. It gives him an odd sort of comfort to have it on him, a reminder that even if things seem dire in his lover’s life, the witcher had moments of brightness before they met. And so did every witcher. 

Jaskier knows it isn’t his responsibility to care for the witchers. He knows that, no matter how much work and love he puts into each and every one of his songs, the whole world won’t suddenly start seeing witchers the way he does. They won’t ever understand the way Vesemir pats his boys’ shoulders every evening as he retires to his room, or the way Lambert has taken to climbing the rafters of the main hall to fix a few holes in the walls. The tenderness of Eskel holding Lil’ Bleater as she burrows against him is lost on most people, and so is the deliberate and careful training they all go through every morning. 

Yes, they are monster hunters, and yes, they are no longer fully human. They went through mutations and trials, and there are things that even Jaskier isn’t privy to, some discussions that quiet down when he walks in a room. But Jaskier is starting to know witchers quite well. There is a layer of care and attention, a deep seated belief that this is the way they were given to protect and they must follow it. So yes, Jaskier knows it isn’t his responsibility to ensure that the witchers experience joy and peace. But it is something he has decided on doing for Geralt long ago, and it feels only natural to extend it to Geralt’s family. 

Eskel is whistling as he cuts down some game he had brought back from a hunt the previous evening, and when he hears the footsteps of the bard, he stills. It is such a contrast, Jaskier notes as he walks inside. The witcher’s shoulders tense up and his eyes harden ever so slightly. 

“Would you mind if I helped you?” Jaskier says, removing his doublet before grabbing one of the other knives on the table. “I have some experience with cutting up meat when we are on the road.” 

The witcher gives him a brief glance over and then shrugs, not saying anything. There are a few minutes of silence, only punctuated by a few quiet instructions from Eskel and the inherent noise of a kitchen, before Jaskier decides that enough is enough. 

“Geralt has been telling me about some of your adventures together as children,” he says as a way of starting the conversation, although he feels some awkwardness rising in him. “It sounds like you two were quite close.” 

“We still are.” 

“Of course,” Jaskier stumbles over his words, and then puts down his knife, looking at Eskel directly. “I meant, it must be quite nice to have a brother as close to you as Geralt and you are. Lambert too, of course. I was born an only child, no siblings or cousins to play with.” 

Eskel hums, more polite than anything, and Jaskier sighs. He had hoped it would be an easily solved discussion, that Eskel would understand what he meant immediately… But Geralt always complains that Jaskier is too convoluted in his ideas, so it wouldn’t surprise him if this was the case again.

“I think anyone who is as close to their sibling as you three are would have some issues trusting outsiders to care for each other.” Jaskier washes his hands in the basin, keeping his eyes turned away from Eskel and on the soap filled bucket. “I bet that I would have been extremely protective of my siblings, if I had had the luck of having any.” 

All the noises in the kitchen have faded, but Jaskier can’t stop himself now that he has started. 

“I want you to know though, I don’t intend to hurt Geralt, ever. I love him, and I always want what will make him happiest.” 

There is a beat of silence, and then a slow inhale. “Even if that means leaving him?” 

Jaskier could cry from the very idea of leaving Geralt behind. And yet… 

“If I was certain that it would make him happier, that my staying apart would bring him more than my staying close would, then yes. But that is not the situation, at least not so far.” Jaskier turns to look at Eskel, who is observing him curiously, no animosity in his golden eyes. “I don’t aim to steal your brother from you. I want you two to share as many adventures now as you did when you were younger. You two are close, and I wouldn’t ever dream of taking that away from you and stepping in between the two of you. Geralt has talked a lot about you in the last year, after he decided to bring me here. In truth, I am glad he has a family, and a brother like you. I know my presence isn’t what you wished for the most, but—“ 

“I want Geralt to be happy,” Eskel cuts in, calm. “I know he loves you, but Geralt has loved before, and he never brought them back here.” 

Jaskier listens quietly as Eskel starts talking. 

“Kaer Morhen, despite all its bad memories, was always our thing. A witcher thing. And then he brought you and… You aren’t a witcher.” 

Jaskier smiles, and an echo of it appears on Eskel’s face. Pulling the drawing from his pocket, he opens it and shows it to Eskel. 

“I think this is yours.” 

Eskel reaches out but he stops himself before he touches the paper. His fingers are still sticky with blood, but it doesn’t stop him from looking absolutely awed. Jaskier smiles as he sees the same joy spreading through Eskel as it had through Geralt.

“I found it a couple days ago, in the library. Geralt mentioned that you had tried to have a pet bumblebee?” 

The witcher looks at him, amused. “Oh, Geralt said that? Then I must definitely misremember him pleading with me that we absolutely needed to care for the poor insect, that we couldn’t leave it alone in the woods and it would freeze at night…”

Jaskier laughs. “Did he now?”

Eskel smiles, a less-fleeting thing now, and Jaskier realizes that they are on a path to create a friendship. He tries to not squeal of joy.

They focus on making dinner together, swapping stories as they go, and for the first time, Jaskier sees Eskel laugh and relax around him. He’s glad for it. 

After dinner, he slips the drawing into Eskel’s pocket before going back to Geralt’s and his room while Geralt enjoys the evening with his family. He is too tired to stay with them tonight, tired and pleased with himself. 

Despite his intentions of staying awake to talk with Geralt when he joined him, he nods off and wakes up when Geralt lowers himself into the bed. Instinctively, he reaches out to stick himself against Geralt’s warm body, and he sighs of contentment. 

“Thank you,” Geralt murmurs as he presses a kiss to his hair. 

Jaskier hums, and then realizes what Geralt said. “What for?” 

“For not giving up on Eskel when he didn’t quite trust you. I’m glad my family is finally seeing how lucky I am to be loved with you.” 

The bard smiles and moves his head up, begging a kiss from his lover’s lips. “I think I am the lucky one, but we can debate another time. For now, we can hold each other and sleep.” 

Geralt chuckles and kisses him again, holding him, and they drift off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic <3!! Thanks to my amazing beta Mephistos who helped make sense of a few nonsensical sentences, and who made this all so much better! Go check out MaxImproving's art on [Tumblr](https://maximproving.tumblr.com/post/642118868080443392/sharing-memories-im-so-happy-i-can-finally-share) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MaxImproving/status/1357013588452458496?s=20)! :D


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